Faikar
by alxxman
Summary: Oath-bound, a woman has no choice but to heed the call of a wizard, inevitably joined to a mismatched group of Free Peoples in a quest with hopes of destroying the one thing that threatens to ensnare Middle Earth in shadow once more. Unbeknownst to most of the Fellowship, all is not well with their tenth member. Something dark lies in wait, much closer than they anticipate.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Burnished gold, that of a fading sun settled upon the valley. Nestled in the arm of a mountain, Imladris, the Last Homely House East of the Sea, was a dream to behold. The sound of falling water was ever present and a light mist floated from the deep falls, sparkling like dew in the air. Auburn, gold, and emerald leaves rose and fluttered in a flurry as they were windswept off the ground, trailing around the woman as she made her way through the white stone courtyards with sure feet. Though autumn had a clear hold upon the land, the air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers and trees.

And yet, even surrounded within the beauty of the valley, a taint lingered. Shadows were darker and deeper, a caution seemed to be on the wind; a strange pause, as if the world was holding its breath. A presence laced the air, a murmur, low and harsh. Even now she could feel the draw of the One Ring. A part of her clawing, fighting, and screaming for what could be hers.

The woman stopped suddenly, the fallen leaves sweeping past her, still caught in her wind. Small ears twitched as her sharp hearing picked up the rising volume of arguing voices and with a quickened step, she followed in that direction.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

Coming upon what was the edge of the Council, she waited, hidden behind a pillar and encased in shadow.

"Merry, who's that?" She had seen the two Hobbits when she reached the top of the stairs, half hidden amongst the railing and the bushes surrounding the courtyard, but she didn't give them her attention. For it was taken by the small, seemingly innocent, golden piece of jewelry isolated on a platform.

The other Hobbit's reply was lost as a great blast sounded through the valley. The idiot dwarf had actually tried to destroy the Ring with his own axe and was blown back as it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Calmly, as if the previous incident had not happened, the Lord of the valley turned his attention to the dwarf, who was now being helped from the ground by his envoy.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess." His gaze, stern and unyielding as it bore into those seated around him, was the opposite of his supposedly unaffected and slow drawling speech. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

 _ **I feel you.**_

The woman froze. Her blood, now an ugly mix of fire and ice in her veins, seemed to slow as her body tightened. An inky blackness spread through her mind, twisting, weaving, searching. It's low rasp echoing across her thoughts.

 _ **You cannot hide.**_

Pain was a raging inferno and biting slices amongst her mind as she fought the dark temptation back, not feeling the sting of her nails as they dug marks into her palms, nor the creaking of her bones from her clenched fists.

 _ **Dark One's Daughter.**_

"Never trust an elf!"

She winced, thrust from her mind, brought back to the present as the evil taint receded, only to see the tension thick and tempers high. Elves were standing and she noticed one, seemingly familiar, trying to hold the others back as the foolhardy dwarf offered them insult. Men had risen and were shouting nonsense, adding to the chaos around them.

She watched as the wizard too, fell into temptation and rose with frustration written into the wrinkles on his face. "Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!"

"So this is the honored gathering of the Free Peoples?" Her husky timbre was quiet and rough but distinctly woman and enough to surprise the Council. All of them stilled, the silence almost painful compared to the cacophony of voices a moment earlier.

Out of the shadows she stepped, taking in the various emotions playing over the assembled faces. Anger was most assuredly still at the forefront, but mixed in were expressions of confusion, awe, recognition, and fear.

Mithrandir, having recovered from her spontaneous entrance, chuckled and leaned heavily on his staff, his shoulders deflating in what looked like relief.

"Ah, my Lady. I was beginning to think you would not make it."

She kicked off and made her way down the steps into the pavilion, holding her head high through the whispers. The woman was dressed as a man, clad in black breeches, dull and supple tucked into tall dark boots. A black leather jerkin was laced over top of a deep blue tunic, leather vambraces adorned her forearms and her hands were covered with black gloves. A tattered and muddy navy cloak fell down her slim back, dancing at her heels. Two swords were strapped on her back, crossed, the shiny black pommels peeking over each shoulder. Her copper colored hair was bound tight in two braids starting high on her head, leading into one solid plait to her waist. Ears smaller than that of a human but pointed like an elf peeked out in between the golden red strands. But it was her eyes that unnerved most. For they were red as well, the crimson of newly spilt blood.

"Who is this woman, and why is she present at this Council?"

She paused mid-stride and tilted her head to the one who had spoken. She didn't have to like it but she could not fault him the question. Curious stares bored into her from around the circle and she knew, though the others had not voiced it, they were wondering as well.

He was stern in bearing and features with shoulder length dark blonde hair and a matching trimmed beard. The man was tan, lines were etched near his eyes and mouth and upon his forehead, telling of the stressors this man has carried, yet he had a noble face. The tilt of his defined chin and the set of his jaw told her enough of his stubbornness. As she moved her eyes downward, she noticed the embroidered white tree on the front of his tunic and snorted. A Gondorian. She watched as he stiffened, his callused and worn hands grasped the loose fabric of his trousers tightly, a vein showing near his temple as he registered her impolite noise.

Turning her head away from him, not deigning him a response, she found the eyes of Elrond, still seated in his chair. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, the edges white. His long fingers were latched to the curved edges of the arms of his chair, knuckles white with the force of his grip. She knew the toll the Ring was taking on him and yet he was able to keep his composure when others could not.

"Lady Nárhína." A true healer, his deep and even voice was a balm over her frayed nerves and she inclined her head to him before returning her attention to Gandalf.

"You know of what I speak. Even now it sews distrust and chaos amongst you." The old wizard seemed to sag in on himself as the weight of her words pressed upon him.

"Lord Elrond had the intention of bringing the Free Peoples together to find a solution to this and yet they argue like children and let prejudice blind them. No one will be able to carry the Ring to Mordor for someone else will not allow it." Aggrieved murmurs swept through the Council at her words. Truly, it was at best- organized chaos. A mismatch of delegates for the Peoples who remain and the only representation against the darkness that seeks to claim them all.

"Is this your ill-conceived attempt at claiming the position of Ring-bearer?"

The woman found herself near the middle of the small circle, standing firm in front of Elrond as the question rang out. She was caught off guard however, when a voice unexpectedly rose to her defense.

"Silence, Thôn. You do not know to whom you speak."

The words were not spoken harshly, nor were they said with malice. She could not identify the speaker but his voice was soft, almost achingly so, and firm, laden with command that was accustomed to being heeded without contention. She turned then, the leaves crunching, breaking as small bones would beneath her boots, and she focused on her accuser.

He was fair of face, as most of the Eldar. Though she kept her features calm, she was shocked to see his black hair shorn at the chin, something that was unseen and unheard of for an elf. His features were unfamiliar to her, as she must be to him or he would not have voiced such an outrageous thought.

"Fear not elfling, for unless you wish upon the world a swifter decent into darkness, the answer is no." The elf's face twisted, silently snarling at being called a child.

"Nárhína-"

"I will take it." Quiet, a strange mix of courage and trepidation cut off Gandalf's protest. The woman shifted again, as did the entire council, and centered herself on the one that had now bound himself to an impossible task with four small words. A Hobbit, she realized, as he repeated his statement but louder. Though he was different than the two she saw before. So many in the Elven city all at once. It cannot be mere coincidence. Disarrayed black curls fell around his ears and on his forehead. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink on his otherwise pale face, no doubt due to the attention he was now receiving. Striking, bright blue eyes met hers and held, unwavering.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor." He paused here and broke eye contact to look around the circle, a forlorn look gracing his features. "Though I do not know the way."

A hand landed on her shoulder, browned and wrinkled but heavy with significance. She looked left at the wizard, his eyes twinkling beneath heavy brows as he smiled at her.

 _Troublesome_.

"We will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it's yours to bear." Resisting the urge to grumble at him for volunteering her - as she just arrived - she felt his hand lift and she followed him to stand with the Hobbit, shooting him a look promising a later conversation.

A man rose, dressed in the clothing of the elves, his dark brown hair hung loose to his shoulders. He too had a beard, trimmed short and sharp grey eyes that softened as he approached the hobbit. She knew this to be Estel, Elrond's ward and the heir to the White City.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He knelt before the halfling, placing his hand upon his shoulder, "you have my sword."

"And you have my bow." The man stood and moved next to her to make way for an elf. He was the one she recognized earlier. The same pale blonde hair as his father was braided per the custom for the hunters of the Woodland Realm and he was clothed in browns and green. Light blue eyes paired with his sharp features created a beauty known only to elves. _Interesting_. _Does your father know you are here to undertake this hopeless venture, Young Prince_?

"And my axe!" Gimli, son of Gloin, as she heard Elrond say earlier, joined their group and she watched with disdain at the looks exchanged between dwarf and elf.

Approaching slowly after the dwarf was the man who had spoken upon her entrance, the man from Gondor. "You carry the fates of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done." _Ah_ , _but_ _what exactly will you see done?_ Her sharp gaze was riveted to the Steward's son as he made is his place amongst the gathered group.

"Heh!" In a struggle of speed, another Hobbit emerged from the bushes and rushed to the front of their group to stand next to the Ring-bearer. "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!"

"No indeed," Elrond's voice rang through the courtyard, laced with amusement. "It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

"Wait! We are coming too!"

Everyone except she and Gandalf looked up in shock to see two more halflings run down the steps to the center of the group.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing." Amusement warred with exasperation on the elf-lord's face as he took in the final volunteers.

"Well that rules you out Pip." She shook her head and could hear Gandalf mumble something under his breath about a fool and a Took.

"Ten companions… So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" The finality and severity of his words blanketed the pavilion, simultaneously releasing and creating a tension that hung morbidly overhead.

"Great!" And then it broke under the joyful voice of the Hobbit called Pip and his naive question, "where are we going?"


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

The House of Elrond was dark and still, candles and lights put out for the night. And yet, a woman rested on the railing of her balcony, gazing out over the main garden and the sloping city. Her fair face was tilted up to the moon, red hair unbound now, wild curls falling over her shoulders and into her lap. Long, slim fingers looped a stray ringlet through her fingertips, lost in the movement and the peace of the evening. Defined red brows arched delicately over her closed eyes. The woman's pert nose was slightly turned up at the end, nostrils flaring as she sorted through the different scents the gentle breeze provided. A smooth scar shone white in the moonlight as it ran from the woman's left ear, down her jaw line to stop at her small square chin.

"Lady Adonnen." The woman's features twisted and darkened until a scowl marred her face and she directed it at the old man who had decidedly broken her quiet solace. He knew she _loathed_ that name.

" _Mithrandir_." She didn't move as she addressed him. "You do realize this is my private room, yes?" He chuckled and shuffled to the balcony to stand near her feet. His hair was still long and grey and somewhat tangled, his beard of matching color fell down the middle of his chest, swaying slightly with every step. Humble robes of charcoal hung loose on his frame as he stooped his broad shoulders over the railing. Those things remained the same, a familiar comfort that never changed. But the heaviness in his eyes and the sorrow that seemed to ride upon his back; that was new.

"What has happened?" His breath left him in a heavy sigh as her question died out on the breeze. The wind was gently lifting and pulling the ends of his hair as he stood there, pensive, so she continued to watch and wait. He would speak in his own time, until then she would provide the only thing he seemed to want; company.

She turned her attention outside, to once again lose herself in the tranquility offered. Silver-white moonlight reflected off the mist of the falls, a web of stars glittering and shimmering as it floated through the dark. The worn stone of the courtyards, while a pale marble in the daylight, now glowed an iridescent creamy white. Flowers had closed their faces for the night but still swooned gently with the breeze, casting their sweet aroma through the chilled air. The soft hoot of owls accompanied with the rolling gurgle of the rivers and streams created a natural lullaby for the citizens of Imladris. Even if someone weren't especially fond of elves, there was no denying the ethereal beauty they were bestowed with and produced. Born from stars themselves, they epitomized it in almost every way. Their flawless porcelain skin, silken hair, and sharp, cutting features sculpted with elegance. She herself had envied their warriors in her youth. The way they fought, as if dancing; each step, each slight bend of the wrist, precise and exact. She was found more than once, hiding in the bushes and up in the leafy trees that encircled the training areas, enraptured by the smooth and savage grace they exuded with seemingly little effort. No excessive movement, no waste of energy, no mauling brawls or great heaving blows that were best known by dwarves and man.

It'd been so long since her last visit to Elrond's home. _So long_ since she'd set foot onto the pearlescent stone and felt the overwhelming peaceful presence of the hidden city. Her fault of course, for staying away so long. But the last time she was here hadn't ended well so she'd condemned herself away; her actions, to her, inexcusable. Over one thousand years ago, Minus Ithil had fallen to the Nazgul. Two of her kin had been slain while defending it and nine hatchlings were stolen, taken into the newly crowned Minus Morgul. She'd been distraught, frantic with rage and pain for her people when word reached her that Elrond requested her attendance so that he may relay a vision. Thinking it to be in relation to the newly conquered city and the missing young-ones, she travelled far and fast to Rivendell. She was wrong, however, and the vision threatened to tip her over the edge that she was so precariously perched on. She had known at the time that his visions weren't exactly set, that there's a separate path that can be taken but she could not be reasoned with. She'd left the same day she arrived, after nearly accidentally razing the valley, and fled to her homeland in the far north.

"Saruman has betrayed us."

 _Ah._

"You do not seem so surprised." He was curious but she could hear the underlying tones of anger. Though whether it was directed at her for her blasé facade or the betrayer, she knew not.

She knew this to be a delicate subject and took a moment to think on how to proceed. Saruman had been the wisest and chief amongst the Istari, Gandalf had often looked to him for aid and counsel. It wasn't a surprise to her that Gandalf would be the last to discover the truth, he was such a trusting individual – seeing the good in Middle Earth and her people, perhaps too much at times. It was due to this conviction that he had not seen the White Wizard's thirst for power earlier.

"Gandalf, do you remember when we gathered for the White Council those years ago?"

It was not an eve she could likely forget. Knowing the dwarves were trying to reclaim Erebor was one thing but Saruman denying the proof of the Morgul blade, poised like a snake in front of him, was another. A confirmation of her growing fears that had her hackles rising.

She turned now to look at the old man in front of her. She did not want to bring him anymore despair but maybe knowing what she knew would help in some way.

"I had my suspicions, as did Morinehtar, but that was all they were. Who was I, to lay blame at the Council's feet for his greed and callous acts without validation? Especially after he battled the Deceiver with you and the Council in Dol Guldur. You would have labeled me a fool, a naysayer. I could not take the risk that you would then turn to him with my thoughts and lay me bare."

Her boots scuffed the railing as she swung her legs to the ground and moved to stand beside the wizard. His mouth was pulled down along with his gaze. She could tell he was distracted, his mind far from here, lost in memory and possibly guilt.

" _Olorin."_

His gaze suddenly cut sharply to hers with the use of his True name. Blue eyes burned bright, now clear of any fog. Imladris disappeared and yet Gandalf remained. No longer aged and grey but tall with smooth bronzed skin, flowing silver robes and golden blonde hair. His deep voice thrummed, alighting her veins and the blood within sang as it sparked and flooded with power. His eyes were chips of ice, almost white with the strength of his magic.

"I have not heard that name in ages." The woman chuckled at his disgruntled reply and blinked rapidly to dispel the vision.

"You forget how old I am, friend. 'Twas the name I first knew for you."

"That, my dear, is because Morinehtar is terrible at keeping things to himself," he grumbled. Nárhína laughed at the utter truth in that statement and the indignant tone in which it was said. She knew if it was indeed a matter of utmost importance, the blue wizard would not dare to repeat anything. However, if one forgot to explicitly mention _not_ to say something- well, that was their fault.

"He is a curious individual," her eyes slid sideways and she allowed a small smirk to play on her lips. "Then again, considering your strange attachment to Hobbits and Radagast's peculiar love for the Wild, the same could be said for all of you. Yes?" She chuckled lightly at his mock glare. She also recognized his need for a change in conversation and decided to ask a question that had been plaguing her through the evening.

"Gandalf," his eyes met hers and she had the unwavering suspicion that he already knew what she wished to speak about. "Do you think it wise for me to be on this journey?"

She knew he knew. Knew what she was, what she was _capable_ of. She could not back out, as it were. There was no freedom in fleeing the Fellowship for it was impossible. Incapable of telling untruths, her word was binding in the most primitive of ways - as it was for all her kind. For that reason alone, most of her kin were masters in the subtle art of misdirection and omission.

No, the only way to be free of obligation was for the man next to her to release her of his vow. As she stared into defensive blue eyes, she knew he would not.

"I fear much worse what could happen if we didn't have you, than what possibly might now that we do."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

"What's she doing?"

With a silent huff through her nostrils, the woman merely sat there, listening and wondering how exactly the next few seconds would go.

"Think she's sleeping Merry?"

"She can't sleep Pip, she's an elf."

"Not an elf, Master Merry." The two hobbits nearly tangled together in their haste to back away from the woman who was most definitely awake. She had thought she had found a secluded enough spot, hidden amongst the thick of the trees on the outskirts of the city.

Apparently not.

As the weeks went by while waiting for word on the Black Riders, space was needed with the continued proximity of the Ring. It wasn't so much that it was actively trying to seek her out, something alone that gave her concern, but it wasn't doing anything. Which meant it's influence moved onto another target, one that could prove to be detrimental should it be too late to hinder.

"What were you doing?"

They were still standing there, big eyes and happy smiles. Simple but colorful clothes that always stuck out amongst the subtle but finely clothed elves. Their curled hair draped over their large ears and flopped on their foreheads with almost every action. She had encountered one briefly, many years ago in this very city. He was here again now, she found out, but hasn't been to speak with him for their friendship was nearly non-existent. His nephew however, was the Ring-bearer and the reason behind the Fellowship.

"It is called meditating, Master Pippin."

They both made faces of what she thought was disgust.

"Meditating? Seems a bit boring if you're just sitting there."

"Are you sleeping? Since you're not an elf? And what are you then?" Merry shot an emerald clad elbow out to Pippin's midsection, hitting with enough force to make the young hobbit grunt and step to the side. He rubbed the area and threw a hostile glare to his friend.

"Don't look at me like that, you can't just ask someone what they are Pip. It's rude." To this, Pippin mumbled something back that sounded even more rude but Merry seemed to simply ignore it. Perhaps it was a regular occurrence?

"Would you like to try?" Adorable as they were, they were wasting her time. She couldn't remember the last time she had done something frivolous but it wasn't likely to change now.

"Try what? The not-sleeping thing?" It was Pippin again who voiced the question. She was beginning to learn that, though they both were mischief makers, he was the more… free-spirited of the two.

"Meditation, yes."

They traded looks before plopping down in front of her, identical faces of blatant curiosity.

"I'm assuming that neither of you have heard of this practice before?"

She watched as their shiny curls went flying as they shook their heads and she sighed.

"Very well. I will do my best to explain, stop me if you need clarification." She gave them both a stern look before continuing. "Meditation is a very old and very useful tool to have. It's purpose is to essentially train your mind. You see the elves practicing daily on the training grounds, yes? This is the same, but for your mind instead of your body." Two pairs of eyes widened as the example set in. "It is primarily used amongst my kind to clear and calm the mind, to be at peace. It helps to sharpen our mental focus as well."

"And you think we can do this too?" Merry's head tilted to the side in clear question.

"Absolutely Master Merry. Anyone can do it, though it might come easier for some than others."

"Great! How's it go?" The right side of her mouth twitched up for barely an instant at the sight of Merry and Pippin's excitement. It was a welcome change, the young ones of her homeland had every excuse imaginable to skip out on meditation. Or they used it to sleep.

"Mimic me. Sit with your legs crossed, loosely. Maintain good posture, keep your back straight but try not to tense up. We have a specific way of positioning the hands, as well as what to do with the head, tongue, eyes, shoulders, and elbows. But we won't get into that right now." She nearly chuckled at the look of shock and relief written across their faces.

"Now, become aware of the comings and goings of your mind. Your thoughts, the distractions around you, think about them, bring them to the forefront." She watched as their eyes closed and their breathing slowed. Her eyes jumped here and there to follow their muscle twitches. Sometimes the tips of their ears would move, sometimes it was their fingers tensing where they rested on their knees. The hobbit's nostrils would flare ever so slightly and their eyelashes fluttered as the breeze passed.

"Good. Now, focus on your breathing. Concentrate on keeping it steady. As you breathe, visualize those worries, thoughts, and distractions, flowing out of you with each breath. As you inhale, bring in peace. Think of wind, gently and softly carrying everything out. Or water, calmly washing over it."

In truth, she hated meditating. Utterly despised it, in fact. But she knew the benefits outweighed the negatives and it truly helped keep the madness at bay, something she learned the hard way long ago.

"This is it?" Merry was still in the seated position, hands in his lap now and his breathing slow and even.

 _Asleep._

"Yes, Master Pippin. These are the basics." The young hobbit looked over at Merry and she knew then that he had no idea the state his friend was in. He merely rolled his eyes before closing them and went back to a steady rhythm of breathing.

She sat there for just a little while longer before Pippin's shoulders slumped over and a loud obnoxious snore dredged it's way up.

She finally allowed herself to chuckle before standing and straightening up. Smoothing her hands over her dark trousers, she dusted herself off before grabbing her twin scabbards that lay by her feet. Nárhína lightly stepped between the two young hobbits and softly brushed callused fingertips through each of their golden brown curls as she left. She made it only a small distance before she stopped and turned her face up into the trees.

"Watch over them."

She did not wait for an answer, but continued forward to the training grounds, knowing full well the Sentry would guard the young hobbits with all that he was capable.

Or answer to her.

"You're just going to leave them there?" Despite the unwelcome addition, the woman never broke stride, making the elf lord turn and keep her pace if he wished to keep talking. Foliage broke and tore under her feet and she wanted to cringe at the necessary noise. Usually, she was able to walk silently. But, she was displeased to say, this elf unnerved her. Which meant she'd do anything to return the gesture. Even if it happened to annoy her in the process.

"Glorfindel. Are you implying that they are in danger, well within the boarders of Rivendell?" She wanted to smile when the elf lord's jaw twitched, giving away his irritation. This banter had been going on for millennia, starting when Elrond first invited her here before he began building in the valley. She was positive he was experiencing some form of jealousy.

Not unlike that of a puppy, actually.

She actually did smile at this and unfortunately, he noticed.

"Why are you smiling?" Though his facial features didn't change from the stoic position it was mostly always in, he sounded distinctly grumpy.

"You. It's quite funny."

He smiled. She stopped.

 _Why does he look like that?_

He stopped as she did but moved in front of her, well within her personal space.

"So you think of me and smile?"

The small hair on the back of her neck rose as he moved in closer to her, that insufferable smirk still on his lips.

 _Arrogant. That's not what I meant at all and you know it._

She would not move, would not give him the satisfaction, though it caused goose-flesh to prickle on her arms with his closing proximity.

" _Nárhína._ "

 _Gods._

Why was he saying her name like _that._ As if they were… _more._

She was horrified to find her breathing had sped up. Deeper breaths caused her chest to rise perilously close to his.

 _Too close._

Lips parted, she brushed her tongue quickly and smoothly against them and nearly ran when his eyes caught the small movement. His nostrils flared at her action and she noticed his shoulders tense shortly at the bottom of her vision.

 _This can't be happening_.

As if he heard her silently pleaded words, Glorfindel took a step back and in that instant, became wholly composed as if the previous few seconds had not taken place. All except that smirk.

With a snarl, Nárhína nearly lunged to the side and took off out of the edge of the tree line, the hopefully deserted training ground panted firmly in mind.

With a wooden target reminiscent of a certain unbearable elf lord.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

Stray wisps of hair tickled against her forehead and she distractedly brushed them back, only for them to spring forward again a moment later. Her cloak lay draped over the wooden fence surrounding the dirt and grass training area, her swords in their scabbards and her boots - with her long socks stuffed inside - sitting beside it. The area was silent, save for her breathing and soft footwork. The occasional sigh from the breeze through the leaves could be heard if she payed attention to it. Sweat glistened amongst the pale skin of her forearms, scars acting as barriers as they inevitably guided the droplets to the rolled shirt sleeves at her elbows.

Thankfully, her preferred training ground was barren of life. She was in a foul mood and didn't particularly want to deal with the repercussions of someone getting offended by something she might say.

Hands as knives, fingers extended and joined, she shot out and retracted her arms, slashing and cutting the space in front of her. Hips twisted and lunged with the movement, the grass catching in between her toes as her feet glided through it. Sliding and hissing, air escaped through her bared teeth in even and controlled pants, timed with the specific motion of her body. The outlines of lean muscle could be seen against her dark trousers as she made her way through her katas; squatting, kicking, and turning.

An uncomfortable shift in the air caused her skin to prickle but Nárhína never broke form. She knew someone was watching her but they were too far away for her senses to accurately pick out. If they wanted her, they could come get her.

 _Gods help him if it's Glorfindel._

A slight twinge in her stomach came with the name.

As her arm swung above her head, she increased speed and shifted into more complicated steps, her long red braid whipping through the air in high pitched snaps.

She didn't need to be thinking about him. She _shouldn't_ be thinking about him. What happened earlier was a mistake, one she knew neither would make again. They both knew the friendship - if it could be called that - was built on a certain type of rivalry. She knew nothing about the elf lord except what was already public knowledge and the same went for him. She could count on one hand how many actually _knew_ her and none of them would ever betray her trust in such a way as to be slipping secrets.

She had a list why she and Glorfindel wouldn't work.

However, she wasn't going to think about because it shouldn't even matter.

 _Then stop thinking about it._

Swearing under her breath, her fingers curved and tightened into fists as she switched styles, moving from Crane Dance into Falling Stone. The harsher and more complex kata relied more on offensive close-range combat than the graceful, evade style sword-play that Crane Dance favored. Elbows came up with force, her breath changing slightly with the heightened intensity as she continued the technique and slammed her bare forearm into her would-be-attacker's trachea.

Nárhína bent low on her left leg, right leg extended, and twisted, fingers pressed into the earth to anchor herself as her body swung around. Shooting up with even more speed, her right leg curved upward, completely vertical and for a moment she was frozen; only before driving her foot down into a skull crushing heel strike and flipped backward.

 _Breathe. And again. Go._

The difficulty with Falling Stone was that it was not meant for endurance. Heavy blows with as much intensity as possible, no weapons - just your own body in any way you could manage it. This was the survivalist's way. Fight and give it everything you had.

"My Lady!"

Her toes landed a hairsbreadth away from Lindir's throat. She held her position, red eyes boring into his and she watched the small up-and-down motion of his laryngeal prominence.

She knew Lindir was sneaking up on her but still she felt a presence at her back. It rankled that she couldn't identify who.

"Lindir. Interestingly risky for you to interrupt during another's training period."

"Well, yes, usually I wouldn't bother you but news has just arrived and you are needed in Lord Elrond's study."

 _Finally_.

Nárhína put her foot down, and watched as Lindir let the tension drain out, his body relaxing and falling slightly.

"Very well, you may relay that I will be there soon." He bowed slightly and left, his pace quick.

Taking a moment, Nárhína let herself just breathe. Training had helped, even the small amount of meditation eased the stressors on her mind. Yet there was still so much to worry about and she felt it as a creature on her back, claws dug in, it's maw open and laughing as she tried to knock it loose, but to no avail each time.

She walked slowly, shaking out her body as she went, her version of stretching. Reaching her belongings, Nárhína dressed with haste, gathering both her cloak and swords as she finished with her boots.

The walk to Elrond's villa was quiet, considering it was dusk and most residents were having supper, this was not a surprise. The fact that it was so late, however, was. She spent more time at the training grounds than she anticipated and it was not like her to be so unaware.

The air was cool as it played upon her sweat slicked skin. She did not particularly want to go to a council of the Fellowship - if her assumptions were correct - dirty and haggard from training but the request was important enough that it needed to be handled at the soonest opportunity.

A soft hum reached her ears, as she stepped into the marble hallway. Her eyes alighted on the tall dark oak door at the end and she could make out the mesh of muffled voices. Two newcomers, along with Elrond and Gandalf.

Reaching his study, she shouldered into the thick door and pushed through, uncaring of appearances or a graceful entrance. She wished to know what she needed and be done.

"Auntie!"

Twin voices of a deep baritone caused twin shivers to slink up her spine. Before the identical elves could set one hair out of line in her direction, she had a sharp nailed finger pointed forebodingly in their direction.

"Don't even think about it. I have the utmost patience for you boys but it's run out early today." The two _adult_ elves merely pouted before smiling and sitting back down. She was always slightly astonished at how childish they remained, especially considering who their father was.

"Didn't we see an elf in a similar mindset, brother?" A corner of his mouth edged up in what could only be determined as sly. A matching one formed on his brother's.

"We did, didn't we? Glorfindel seemed to be a tad bit _flustered_ today as well." And they sat there, stinking up the room with their self-satisfied attitudes and smug implications.

 _Children!_

Still carrying her cloak and swords, Nárhína nodded a greeting to the Grey Wizard and Elrond before stopping and bowing her head between the twins.

"One more word from either of you - unless it is legitimately important - and I will tell your father that the _real_ reason why he had such a terrible and sudden bowel movement years ago, was because his darling boys slipped Senna into his morning tea." With each word, whispered from her mouth for their ears only, their faces paled marginally until two stark white, wide eyed, and gaped mouth elves were staring back at her.

"Elladan, Elrohir?" Elrond's voice was tinged with humor but with notable question. She knew he had no idea what she said, he could only see the reactions of his sons and base his thoughts off of that.

Her adopted nephews gained their bearing, albeit slowly, and detailed their findings.

A black horse found dead on a river bank and in another territory, a tattered black cloak.

 _Small, but a window of opportunity nonetheless._

"They will have fled to Minus Morgul to recover." Her husky timbre cut through the quiet after the twins revelation and was met with a nod from the wizard.

"The time has come," his blue eyes drove into hers, "for our journey to begin."

* * *

 **A/N:** I used "katas" above and this is a term used in martial arts. The styles or forms that my OC is using are completely made up by me - if there is a kata that goes by either of those names, it was not my intention and purely coincidental.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

 _Black, ugly smoke billowed into the sky, covering the sun and casting its shadow upon the world. Grasping fingers of raging orange and crimson devoured all in its path, the earth screamed as it broke under the heat. The ground shook, great heaving pieces of land tore and ripped open, chasm's stretched like gaping wounds across the surface._

 _"Nárhína." Emerald eyes flecked with brown stared into her own. Pale hands covered her's, stained, unclean, dirtied with black blood._

 _"Mother." Salt on her tongue, something foul and acrid in her throat stung and cut with her voice._

 _"My little flame," her mother coughed, back arching and shaking. She cried out as the small bones in her hands ground together from her mother's clenching grip. "I need you to do something for me."_

 _A great roar rent the air, splitting her mind, ringing in her ears and tightening her chest. And yet, she sought him out. Followed him as a flower to the sun._

 _He rose, an onyx God. Smoke twined around him in a morbid dance as the inferno caressed his body. Shining ruby eyes glowed with hatred and fury and a promise of absolution._

 _"Father." Hurtshurtshurts._

 _Her mother's grip loosened and she turned away from the otherworldly glory of her sire to the frantic wide eyed gaze of her mother. Her normally copper curled hair was lank, darkened with sweat and stuck to her face._

 _"Can you feel your father?" Speaking was difficult so the child nodded. She felt both her parents. Her mother was warm, golden, a small soft spot in the center of her chest. Her father was pressure, a weight she felt over her skin, the thrum of power through her veins._

 _"Feel for his fire. I know you can. Feel for his fire and_ _ **pull**_ _." The child, met with the stern but desperate plea from her mother, obeyed._

 _A blaze, brighter and hotter than anything she'd ever felt before, burst within her. Flooding, burning,_ _ **taking**_ _. A high pitch scream ripped through the air, raspy and torn with agony as a matching animalistic cry scoured the valley._

She shot up, out of bed and out of her dream to fall on the floor. Cool was the tile on her sweat soaked and heated skin. Her hair was plastered to her body, matted with perspiration and tangled in a macabre embrace with her limbs. The air stung as it rushed down her throat and her chest heaved with great gasping breaths as she tried calm herself. _Why now?_ She has not had a night terror since her youngling days. _And this was no ordinary dream._ Her head thumped against the floor as she stared at the ceiling. She had no time for old memories, _dark_ _memories_ , to be surfacing.

 _Perhaps it is a one-time occurrence._

The woman sighed, hopeful but she knew it'd be otherwise. However, one thing was for sure, sleep would not come again tonight. She picked up her head and looked to her balcony doors before pushing herself up off the floor. Still clad in her sleepwear of brown breeches and a loose white tunic, the woman paused to grab her swords, careful to touch only the scabbards, before she slipped through onto the balcony.

The night was cloudless, the stars stark white against the deep black and a cold breeze blew down from the Misty Mountains, the few remaining leaves on the nearly naked trees shivered in the moonlight. Holding her twin blades under one arm, she placed her other hand atop the stone railing and vaulted off, her bare feet barely making a sound as she crouched in landing.

The moon was full, its light cast the world in soft silver as the woman moved silently through the shadowed corridors. Her eyesight was impeccable, the transition from daylight to night almost unnoticeable. The pads of her feet made no noise, passing over the pathways with hushed haste. She reached the farthest training area just as the moon started its decent from the center of the sky.

The dirt was hard and packed beneath her soles, centuries of training had worn the ground down and the only foliage present outlined the small area. The river was louder now, almost deafening, for it was just on the other side of the outcropping of trees. Her sharp hearing picked up the small sounds of the night life as she set her swords down. The eerie whisper of wind through the evergreens, chirping crickets and the soft buzzing of wings. An occasional lone hoot and the short squeaks of bats. Things rustling under the undergrowth with hushed chittering, and the lonely song of a Nightingale. She did her best not to interrupt for the soothing natural sounds were a balm to her heightened state.

Bending down, the woman grasped the black hilts of her swords tightly and flicked both her thumbs near the rim of the scabbard, releasing a catch and pulling the blades free with a smooth hiss.

Immediately her palms warmed with the power that lay underneath. _I've missed you._ An answering hum raced up her arms as the blades started to smoke lightly, anticipating the woman's actions, hungry for conflict. The hilt was perfect under her hands, a worn black leather without a hand guard. A small round onyx gem adorned the very end, the only part of the sword that shone. The blades were identical, long slim and slightly curved. She smiled, a frightening flash of white in the night before she lunged. Perfectly balanced, her dark swords were almost impossible to see in the night. For they did not glint nor reflect, their dull black metal soaked in what little light there was, wrapping the shadows thicker around them as the she moved.

Twist, kick, slice, duck, lunge.

A dance, embedded in her bones by pain and anger; a mantra, branded into her body through death and sacrifice.

Twist, kick, slice, duck, lunge.

Her red hair streamed around her as she moved her way through the clearing. Each step precise, measured, calculated. Each breath an even count in and out. She could not feel the soft brush of the loose tunic as it swayed around her form. Nor the rough scrape from small rocks in the ground under her feet.

Twist, kick, slice, duck, lunge.

Eyes of red fire burned bright in the darkness as she moved faster, her feet kicking up dust to float and weave and wisp in her wake. Her body, a marionette of memory, shuddered and shook as she bent and curved, her muscles tightening as her breathing deepened.

Twist, kick, slice, duck, lunge.

 _"Twist-kick-slice-duck-lunge!"_

 _The jarring clang of metal on stone reverberated through the training hall as she collapsed._

 _"Again!"_

 _She peeked through her hair as it hung limp in front of her face. She tried not to concentrate on the shaking of her arms as she lifted herself but it was hard. Her entire body hurt and she couldn't remember when she lost the feeling in her legs._

 _"Get up! I said again!" With a sharp crack, the whip came down hard on her back, tearing another hole in her tunic and slicing open the skin on her shoulder. She lost the slight progress she'd made and fell back to the floor with a pained grunt._

 _Harsh, choppy breathing was the only sound that echoed off the barren walls as she lay there. She knew the ground should be cold beneath her cheek but there was nothing, save for the salty metallic taste on her lips and tongue._

 _"Weak." The child cringed as if hit. The man's boots scraped along the stone floor with each heavy step as he made his way to her shivering form._

 _"You do not deserve these." A sharp cry escaped as he smashed his heel onto the back of her hand, digging and grinding, forcing her to drop her sword. Scooping up the blade, he did the same to her other hand, grabbing the twin. She did not scream this time, her body numb now as she struggled to breathe and stay awake._

 _The soft creak of leather was all she heard before her head was ripped back, held painfully by her blood matted hair._

 _"You are a disgrace." His voice was rough and harsh, trembling with the one thing she knew better than others._ _ **Hatred.**_ _"How can something so pathetic be worthy of the Dark One's legacy?" She knew she should care, for it was an honor only bestowed to her, but she found in this moment that she did not. And he could see it._

 _The man snarled and slammed her face against the ground. She screamed then, loud and broken as the bones in her nose shattered and her mouth filled with warm blood. She choked and coughed, gurgling while trying to breath but only succeeding in pulling in more of the crimson liquid. His lips were warm on her ear, his panting breath hot and wet against the side of her face as she struggled against his weight to get free._

 _"What now, little Princess?"_

Her scream echoed through the clearing, furious and deep. Her swords sang as they sliced through the night, glowing orange.

The woman stopped abruptly as a creaking groan filled the air. Swords steady at her sides and throbbing in tune with her heartbeat, she twisted around to face the forest.

Only to freeze, her body suddenly locked. Not by the tree toppling backward, but by the bright blue eyes beside it.

* * *

A/N: Hello lovelies! Hope this finds you well! Another chapter, I apologize that it's so slow going but that's the nature of this beast. A lot of things need to happen and it wouldn't be good if I rushed. Anyways, I'd love to hear from you, let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

* * *

As if a star itself had fallen to Middle Earth and taken physical form, he stood there, emanating a warm silver glow. Golden hair, pale now in the soft light of the moon, fell straight down his back, save for two pieces in front of his ears that barely brushed his collar bone. The elf-lord was broad shouldered, more so than what was commonly seen amongst the Elven race. There was a gentle strength about him, an aura of calm wisdom that many elves still sought. Hands, pale and smooth, clenched against his biceps as he stood there silently, arms crossed and stiff. His jaw was hard, square cut and chiseled. A wide soft pink mouth was parted slightly, his lips evenly full on top and bottom. Sharp cheekbones created hollowed shadows upon his cheeks and straight brows, many shades darker than his hair, were furrowed, as if in concentration or pain. A strong, straight nose only added to his beauty, a beautiful mix of masculine features and delicate structure. Steeling herself, Nárhína looked to his eyes once again.

An electric jolt lanced through her body, almost painful as his gaze trapped hers. Every nerve was on fire, a frightening but wonderful heat rising and awakening.

 _Madness._

She broke his stare but somewhere, in the depths of her mind, there was a part of her that didn't want to look away. Hated herself for it.

He unfolded, slowly yet coiled, before he started to walk forward sure and confident. His footsteps beat within her blood, each step closer was a hitch in her breath, his scent a dangerous heady combination of pinewood and earth.

The elf stopped, a few feet away - _still too close -_ and she struggled to control her breathing, desperately fighting for some foothold with her emotions. They were a mess, a confusing tangle that she didn't want to take the time to identify; for if she did, she knew she'd find something she shouldn't be feeling. _Couldn't_ feel.

" _Nárhína."_ Her body shuddered, out of her control with the smoothness of his voice. It was silk that enveloped her, caressed her, all from one word.

"Glorfindel." Curt, brusque, the only shield she had at the moment.

It'd been almost a fortnight since the meeting with Elrond's sons and subsequently, Glorfindel. They were due to leave Rivendell tomorrow and she had not seen the golden haired elf lord since that strange and unnerving encounter. Although, she could admit to going so far as to turn the other direction if she knew he was coming or staying away from places she knew he frequented.

"Are you alright?" It was a whisper now, the words he spoke into the night. She wasn't surprised to hear silence, her slip of control most likely scared away what creatures inhabited the small area. It was truly just the two of them.

The woman abruptly turned on her heel, not bothering to answer him, and stalked back across the training ground to her scabbards. Though he was being as silent as possible, she still felt his presence behind her, following her at a marginally wider distance than before.

The soft _zing_ of her blades being sheathed rang through the quiet, cutting through some of the tension that accumulated with the elf's arrival. Not much, but enough.

"This must stop, Glorfindel." There. Steady, calm, collected. Not at all the boiling tempest she felt like.

His head tilted to the side in obvious question. "Stop what, Nárhína?"

She whirled around, red eyes like flame and a scowl twisting her face. "Do not toy with me!" Her voice thundered and shook, her arms trembled as the fight surged within her. _How dare he!_ "You know _exactly_ of what I speak!" All the while he stood there, still and composed though his blue eyes were alight as he stared.

"No, what I know is there is something you are _denying_." He took a step closer and she snarled, an ugly guttural sound that was impossible to be anything remotely human. Lips were now pulled back, baring teeth and abhorrence. "You do not scare me. I know what you are, _who_ you are, and it has no affect." Another step, another deep sound of rage. "Though perhaps it is _you_ that is afraid."

She recoiled as his words pierced her. "I am not afraid," but even to her ears the words sounded hollow.

"I have tried to speak with you, one more than one occasion and yet you are always just out of my reach. Your time is limited here Nárhína and yet you run from me, run from _this_." A half step closer and this time she let him. "This is new to me as well but I am not so ignorant as to be blind to what is happening. Nor so cruel as to know but pretend it does not exist." She flinched, his words described her actions perfectly since their brief meeting weeks ago.

 _You do not understand._

"Help me to understand." Shocked, and wondering if she had spoken out loud, she looked to find him smiling at her. Just a gentle tilt of his lips but it was the softness, the utter _surrender_ in his gaze that gave her pause. "I ask nothing from you now but your willingness to try." The lightest graze against her cheek, the backs of his fingers carved fire into her skin.

He was so close now, close enough that she had to raise her face to look up into his. Close enough she could see his eyes weren't just blue but a captivating combination of sapphire and pale green, hazel suns encircling the pupils. She could see herself in their reflection, hair unbound in a storm of curls, her face flushed and eyes hooded.

" _Nárhína." Gods. Again._

Alive for over six-thousand years and this was happening now? Now, when the world was perched upon a precipice with a darkness that nearly matched Morgoth? Now, when she knew she couldn't give him what he sought?

 _A fool's hope._

And yet…

"I- I will _try._ " She was horrified to find her voice trembling, the words _pulled_ out of her and she was helpless to stop them, to take them back. However, that feeling dissipated somewhat when he smiled.

It came like the sun, blinding and brilliant and she almost looked away. It was too much. Too much she hadn't told him, too much for it to be okay.

But she didn't say those things now. And she would not. Not even as he dipped his head, blonde hair sweeping along her cheeks as his lips graced her forehead. She said nothing as he whispered words to her skin, _thanking_ her. She only watched as he backed away, so _unbelievably_ happy that he was glowing, a radiance all his own. She said nothing as a word, borne from both despair and the tiny insignificant flicker of hope, eased into her consciousness; so strong and yet so fragile. One she feared more than anything.

 _Mate._


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

* * *

Dawn approached like the rising of the morning tide, steady and inevitable; and yet she was awake and packed before the first strokes of pale pink painted the horizon. Her unruly hair was bound in a tight braid and she was dressed in various shades of blue and brown, twin black hilts peeking above her shoulders from under a worn cloak. Deft fingers flew through the motions as she armed herself, placing a blade on the outside of her thigh and in the concealed sheaths along her forearms, smoothing down her sleeves once she was finished. She turned, only to find her pack dangling from pale fingertips.

The intruder was beautiful. Full lips of cerise and shining eyes, Nárhína could not stop the hand that lifted to brush the elleth's pale cheek. "I am certain you grow even lovelier each time I see you, _mellin_." The elven woman smiled, a small graceful tilt of her lips but her eyes remained unchanged, bright but frozen pools of crisp blue. Nárhína let her hand drag down from her face and weave through her niece's silken tresses, repeating the gesture when she saw the tension in Arwen's shoulders loosen and her strict posture slouch slightly. The pack dropped at their feet and Nárhína closed the small distance to encircle the elf in her arms, breathing in the small comfort that family provided. Arwen's arms were tight around her ribs and she almost missed the minuscule tremble of her limbs.

"What has your father done now?" She had no doubt it was something related to the elf lord. As much as Arwen loved her father, which was unconditionally, Elrond was the only one able to get under his daughter's skin.

Nárhína had met Elrond before either of them turned half a century old. He was her brother in every way that mattered. They'd been present through most of each other's lives; the pain, the sorrow, the dark times that wrapped you in chains and threatened to drag you to an abyss too deep to crawl out of. Of course, there were bright days as well. The first time he taught her how to use a bow. His reaction when he found out he had walked around the entire day with flowers in his braided hair that she had stealthily snuck in. Their first Starlight Feast.

But the day his eyes settled on his future wife was her favorite. The normally stoic and stern ellon had literally melted in the presence of Celebrían. She had been shocked at first; to see him so charming and gentle with the silver haired beauty was certainly a drastic transformation but not wholly unwelcome. It took some time to get used to, the dynamic changed and the elleth was nervous around her despite Elrond's firm and absolute countenance. But regardless of the elf woman's opinion of her, Nárhína was adamant that those two were halves of the same soul.

Things changed again when Celebrían was pregnant with the twins. Children were not rare exactly but did not happen often amongst elves. She had found herself in the Lady's company more days than not, a strange new path open to her. The word 'friend' was used more in conversation and as a title and Nárhína could not tell you when that somehow became 'sister', the love and laughter the elf woman showered her with mending something she did not know was broken. She was present at each of the children's births, Godmother for all, and tried to spend as much time as she was able in Imladris. Often enough when the young ones were growing up, Elrond and Nárhína differed in views and temperament – stout siblings - whereas Celebrían would more so side with her husband. This resulted in the children seeking her out when things didn't go exactly their way. The twin troublemakers often finding her for shelter from the storm brought on by their mischievous actions and a shoulder and ear for Arwen when her parents denied her something she sought. She was present for most of their lives, a semi-permanent fixture from the moment they appeared in this world.

Everything changed however, with a dark night and a cave of monsters.

Featherlight, a ghost of a touch on her own cheek brought her out of the dark corner her thoughts led her to. Knowing eyes gazed up her, brimming now with a different sort of grief.

"I am not afraid anymore," Arwen said. Nárhína's hand began combing through the dark locks once again, red eyes softening at the determination she heard.

"It would not matter," her voice hushed but firm. "Your fear, even hatred, I would gladly take if it meant you and your family were safe." The skin between slim black brows furrowed and Nárhína gently gripped her niece's chin. "Hush now. There is no discussion. The consequences are my own and I regret nothing." Leading her out of the room and onto the balcony, they sat, the burgeoning sun an ever brightening backdrop. "Now, tell me what dims my Evenstar."

Sharp blue eyes under a sheen of tears cut to hers and Nárhína could read what she tried to hide. Sadness of course was most apparent, assuredly anger, and fear. She watched as they came and passed over, only to rise once again to the forefront. It was not easy watching one you cherished fight with their own emotions, struggling to find some semblance of control only to have them choke and suffocate you from within.

"I am to sail." _Of course._ Though it was no surprise, Nárhína still found the breath in her lungs turning to lead.

"Your father's decision, I presume?" She knew the answer already and did not need Arwen's nod as confirmation. After his wife made her own journey to the Undying Lands, Elrond had changed, falling back into the well-worn and familiar skin of the age old warrior. Most unsurprisingly, it affected his relationship with his daughter. So much so that she travelled to her Grandmother's and spent the next few centuries in the Golden Wood. It would only make sense now, when the world was in danger of darkness again, that he would want her to leave.

"He seeks only to protect you." The elf's mouth turned down as she dipped her head. "But," Arwen didn't look up but Nárhína knew her attention had not strayed. "We both know your fate is no longer in his hands. Has not been for some time, as I'm sure he realizes." And slowly, ever so slowly, Arwen turned to face her. Where despair once reigned, blue fire raged, alight with something other than a breaking heart that sent a tingle of trepidation down her spine.

Nárhína did not like hope. Did not enjoy the way it kept the heart beating as others attempted to beat it from the flesh. Nor the way it bred madness, flooding and filling until the air you breathed was its own and reality was a shimmering mirage of _could be_.

But then _he_ filled her thoughts. Eyes an enchanting mix of blue and green, skin crinkling at the corners with the force of his smile and the joy lighting them from within. She focused on her niece once more, realizing that to be anything but supportive would go against the very thing she succumbed to just the day before.

 _A fool's hope._

"I will not pretend to know the future," Nárhína sighed, her age assuredly layered in the small noise. "Truthfully, there is a greater chance for failure than there is of this makeshift Fellowship succeeding. But I believe you already made your choice, you must now recognize that there is nothing your father nor _anyone else_ could say to sway you otherwise." Arwen refused to meet her gaze, something very much unlike herself, choosing instead watch her own dark hair flutter with the morning breeze. Nárhína rested one of her own scarred hands over her niece's, squeezing gently in understanding as the older woman grasped onto the heart of the matter.

"Do not fall for the whispered wishes of a frightened man."

* * *

A/N: Woo! Another short chapter BUT it's the last one before the actually journey! Woo! And hopefully longer chapters... once again, reviews are not mandatory but are appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

* * *

"Nárhína!" She had finished speaking with Arwen just moments ago, the sun now fully risen over the horizon and signaling she was almost late to meet the rest of the Fellowship to begin their trek. Yet at the urgency of the voice behind her, the woman stopped in the middle of the corridor, pack slung over one shoulder haphazardly as she turned.

"Glorfindel." The tall golden haired elf strode toward her, his long legs devouring the distance between them before she could fully catch her breath at the unexpected sight of him. It seemed a lifetime ago since they had spoken but the whispers reminded her that it was not so long, not even a day since he left her on the training field, internally agonizing over her own decisions. His dark cloak flared out behind him, revealing thicker and warmer clothing in browns and greens and she remembered with small surprise that he was also leaving with his own task.

"I assumed you would have rode with the dawn." A presumption that had caused doubt to linger in the darkened corners of her mind. She truly did not understand how to go from here, as if she were lost in fog, her senses dulled. They were both leaving, the threat of death loomed overhead, and communication would be extremely limited if possible at all. And there were secrets, _so many secrets_ , that he did not know, that she did not say before binding them into this troubled dance of courtship.

Lines decorated his cheeks as he smiled and her heart suddenly quickened at the sight.

 _Traitorous body._

It was soft and gentle and his teeth stayed hidden behind pale pink. Breathing became tighter and shorter as she continued to watch the small transformation in front of her. There were no words, no apt description for the softening of his eyes and what they were doing. One moment he was merely looking at her and then… he was _looking._ She was at a loss by the sudden sharp pain in her chest and did not understand why her throat closed so quickly, choking words before she even thought to speak.

"We were, but I could not find you. Did you truly believe me to leave without seeing you once more?" _Yes_ , that is exactly what she thought and it must have appeared on her face because his breath puffed against her nose in a chuckle. Distracted, she did not fully grasp that he was touching her until his hand had returned down to his side; the trail of fire that singed her cheek and the curl that was neatly tucked back behind her ear the only proof that such an interaction even happened.

He was close, as close as he was _that night_ when she could identify the individual colors of his mostly blue eyes and mentally, Nárhína was panicking.

Pride was such a fickle thing, it tended to be one's downfall more often than it actually aided but when it came to her training, to her abilities – she was wholly confident to know that she was able to maintain control in any situation.

Except, it seemed, for this one.

Unversed did not even begin to describe her modicum of experience in this area. There was a time when she was younger – much, much, younger – when she thought she would need to be proficient in and eventually master the art of seduction and pleasing one's partner; but the contract in which it mattered was dissolved with her betrothed's death and she was only too happy to terminate any and all training in that particular capacity.

Now, standing in the middle of a deserted hallway with one of the most beautiful elves in existence, his attention and focus directed solely toward her, she desperately wished that she remembered even a few of the teachings or _at the very least_ how to not behave as if she had the cranial capacity of a troll.

It was exceptionally unlike her to act this way. So lost in the mere presence of another that she could scarcely recall how to breathe properly as the world faded at its edges. It was discomfiting, unbecoming for one such as she. It was –

 _Terrifying._

"Nárhína?" The woman snapped out of her reverie at the elf's questioning tone and she realized with slight embarrassment that she must have missed something.

"I apologize, it was not my intention to ignore you, but it seems I was lost in thought." Which of course was the truth. But the smirk that slyly crawled its way onto the curve of his lips made her rethink her words for any underlying meaning.

"Thinking about me again?" She jolted. As if shocked, the current snapping her body taut as her neck and face flamed.

 _Insufferable, pompous–_

Her snarling inner monologue was sharply cut off as he _laughed_ and cupped the defined edges of her jaw in his hands. Heat wound and coiled in her stomach as the rough pads of his fingertips found the soft sensitive skin behind her ears, his thumbs lightly resting on the apples of her cheeks.

Black expanded and Nárhína watched with a curious sort of wonderment as the dark pupil absorbed his very own mix of blue and green. A small sudden movement drew her gaze downward to rest on his mouth. No longer tilted and smirking, it was slightly parted with his uneven breathing. His lower lip was redder than she remembered and she wondered absently if he bit it. Forgetting that she should be annoyed with the elf lord, her hand raised toward the object of her attention with a strange sort of detachment, as if she were not in full control of her own body.

Her fingers curled in together as they slid gently under his chin, one lone finger hovering treacherously close to fulfilling her unconscious curiosity. She had an unexpected irrational thought that her hands were too dry before her thumb brushed the very corner of his wide mouth. The muscles in his chest tensed under her palm and the woman dazedly recognized that her hand did not use to be there, but her focus was on something else entirely.

His mouth was warm, softer than she anticipated but also slightly chapped and she slowly grazed her finger along the boundary of his full lip, hypnotized by the new vibrations under her flattened hand and the hot exhales of air against her thumb. She followed its trail, mesmerized, and as her body grew more confident, her thumb strayed from the outer edge to the even softer, smoother skin closer to his even white teeth. But the heat that had been steadily pooling in her abdomen suddenly _blazed_ when her finger drifted too close to the threshold of his open mouth and Glorfindel's teeth came together with an audible snap, nipping the plump pad of her thumb before trapping it between his lips.

The strangled gasp that slipped past her lips was drowned out by the low moan from the elf in front of her and the fire inside of her raged in response, wanting more.

"Oi! Elrohir! I found him!"

"Glorfindel! Cease your lustful advances on our Aunt!"

"At least for right now, of course. Father was asking after her and we need to leave as well."

Cold water in the form of her two nephews splashed across her, dowsing the flames that had nearly consumed her and she ripped herself away from the elf lord in front of her.

She peeked around Glorfindel's shoulders but did not see either of the twins. Thankful that they were either hiding or had actually left the corridor after interrupting them, their absence gave her a semblance of privacy – illusionary or not.

What would have happened if they had not appeared when they did? Things were moving too fast and it was even more complicated with the elf lord present because what was left of her conscience seemed to disappear in an opaque cloud of hormones whenever he was close.

A brief flash of _something_ moved over his features with her abrupt distance but it was gone before she could identify it.

"I will trouble you no more; I merely desired to see you for but a brief moment and to wish you a safe journey." He closed the small distance to her again and before she could object, bestowed the briefest of kisses to her brow, reminiscent of the very first she had received from him. She stared up at him with wide eyes as he stepped back, the sunlight choosing that very moment to halo around him.

"I will see you soon."

And Nárhína could only stand there, slack in the golden light as she watched his retreating form, wondering if she was slowly going mad.

* * *

"Train?"

"You mean with _weapons_?" Their voices perfectly matched their facial expressions, an interesting blend of disgust and shock; possibly also offended as she noticed the slight squint at the corners of Sam's eyes and the small jerk of his broad shoulders. As it was, she had a difficult time of her own trying to understand how exactly they were alive and made it to Rivendell in mostly one piece.

"I find myself at a loss young Masters. How is it you think to fend off an orc?" The woman's scrutiny pierced through each of them. "Invite them to tea? Brandish a frying pan, perhaps?" It was not loud by any means but they flinched as if struck by the snap in her voice. If she did not have their attention before, she certainly had it now.

They had been traveling for six days now and each evening was the same. The company would stop at dusk and break camp while the last vestiges of light lingered. Small conversation and light laughter with memories spoken would weave through the firelight as the hobbits ensnared the other members of the Fellowship with their time of home and cajoled the other members into telling some aspects of their own lives. Nárhína would watch, perched upon a branch or rock, or seated in the grass on the edge of their territory, and wonder at the curious magic that flickered so bright in the small creatures. With each passing day, she grew more certain – there was _something_ about them. Gandalf had caught her calculating look one night when she was trying to follow the absurd hand motions and body language of Merry and Pippin as they retold a story from their childhood and the twinkle in the wizard's eye nearly confirmed her suspicions.

But this was not a trip to a neighboring village. Luck had been on their side, no problems had arisen since they set foot on this trek but that undoubtedly was not going to stay that way. Moreover, she found out almost immediately while observing them in Imladris that none of the four halflings had even an _inkling_ of a combat mindset.

That was about to change.

"Each time we break during the day, I will see to your training with the short swords each of you were given and run through various close-combat techniques. I will also teach you the way of the land: flora and fauna. Nomenclature, their purpose and uses, whether or not they are edible, poisonous, and so on. Mammals, reptiles, amphibians, insects, will be strictly need to know so we don't waste time." Her gloved hand shot in the air to cut off what was no doubt an obnoxious question from Pippin. "If the knowledge is not yet known to you, you will soon understand how to start a fire, how to find fresh water, and we will touch on how to survive in the numerous climates of Middle Earth. I will also test your skills in the capacity of scouting, hunting, basic healing, and sabotage. If you are found wanting, I will instruct you in these areas as well.

You are not in the Shire anymore. You won't be going home for a very long time and I will _not_ have your lives, nor ours, jeopardized by the fact that certain parties agreed to have wholly untrained members in a quest where serious injury and death is not only a possibility, but imminent."

The soft sounds of camp filtered over to their secluded group as they stood there, shocked faces pale in the retreating sunlight. She could not stop herself as she focused on a particular hobbit. Out of the many conversations that took place with Elrond and Gandalf, Frodo's near crossover into the shadow world was one that was spoken about in length. His gaze was frozen on hers but instead of the rounded eyes like the others, he looked calm. _Determined._ Understandable, she thought. He had to stand behind his friends and watch as they were thrown out of the way before he himself was stabbed. Out of the four of them, he was most likely the only one that truly realized how much they were in need of this.

"It will be difficult, but not impossible." Nárhína kneeled then, the shuffling of stones and dry grass breaking seemed overly loud in the tense atmosphere she had created. The end of her braid brushed the soil as she took the time to make eye contact with each of her charges.

They were not close, she and them. The hobbits did not interact with her the way they did Gandalf or Aragorn, or even Gimli, to whom they bonded with over shared experiences of intoxicated escapades.

She also knew that the fault for that detachment lied mostly with her. Nárhína knew she was not as easy-going or approachable as some were used to or expected. In truth, she was closest in temperament to the elf, aloof and silent. Legolas, however, spoke more than she did – cordially to Aragorn and the wizard while saving sly and tactless comments for herself and the dwarf, who would always rise to the occasion and then the two would bicker continuously. The other man, the Gondorian, did not speak at all unless it pertained to the actually journey. Choosing instead to remain quiet and stern of face even in the presence of the halflings. The only exception to this would be herself, who received narrowed glares and heated stares at every stop and turn. Nárhína was sure the man looked down upon her due to her supposed biological standing as a female, but the elf had no such facetious teachings to fall upon to explain his horrendous attitude. She knew plenty of elven women who took up blade or bow and served. No, she had the impression that the Prince's ire came from what he suspected her race to be. Yet she paid them no mind and Morinehtar's voice would rumble through her thoughts each time the man's violent gaze landed on her or when the not-so-subtle whispers of the elf reached her ears.

 _A lion does not lose sleep over the opinion of sheep._

"I would also use this time to talk with the others, though not about trivial matters. There may be things they can teach you that I am not familiar with." She was still crouched down in front of them and their features had finally returned to normal as they focused their thoughts. "You do not know me," she was softer now and they could tell, the four of them unconsciously relaxing as their body language reflected hers. "I am harsh, unyielding in most ways, and I do not convey emotion well, but do not doubt for a single moment that I do not care for your wellbeing."

Silence greeted her words. Nárhína merely observed as the hobbits looked amongst one another with sideways glances and semi-coordinated facial tics before resting their gazes back onto her. Pippin was the first to break, fidgeting, easing from foot to foot with a strange bob to his shoulders. It almost looked as if…

A loud sigh left her and she did not even attempt to stop it. "Master Pippin. You either have a question or you are in a hurry to relieve yourself, which is it?" A rosy blush dusted across his cheeks and he ducked his head as Merry grumbled to himself next to him.

"Well–I–both, actually. But I can wait!" Not entirely sure if it was wise to trust those words, Nárhína gave another sigh, this one thankfully remained internal. "I apologize for taking up so much of your time. You may go get yourself ready, your items staged for the night, and I will answer any questions you may have once you are finished. We will begin training tomorrow." If she was any other person, she might have been insulted at the speed they used to leave, all of them clamoring and shouting over the other as they sped toward the fire and the rest of the company. She turned to follow them, albeit at a more sedate pace, and watched as all four veered off into the direction of the small patch of trees that resided near their camp.

* * *

A/N: Okay... some things in here. Some of them I planned, others sort of came out of nowhere and just happened. But hey, longer chapter! Would looooove to hear what you think! And thank you to those who followed, favorited, and to my one reviewer for the last chapter - you make the world go round.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

* * *

While she had no reservations about answering any questions the hobbits may have, Nárhína could not help but be wary when envisioning how the other members of the Fellowship would react to her 'willingness to interact' and whether or not they would see it as an opportunity to ask more probing queries.

She was met with varying degrees of welcoming looks as she took a place closer to the small crackling fire, placing herself on a lichen-covered rock, exposed to the hillside behind but open to the forest and the rest of the company. Gandalf and Aragorn gave small nods with concerned glances while the other three ignored her presence entirely.

"Troubles?" The quiet question came from the grey wizard, who had paused in his conversation with the Ranger.

"If not handled appropriately, then yes," she answered. "I do believe I have found a solution, though I would ask that most, if not all, participate – as it were." She felt more than saw the attention of the three remaining members' center on her. "It would be prudent to start training the hobbits." Gandalf leaned back on the log he was perched upon, a thoughtful look upon his face.

"I agree. In actuality, I was hoping to propose something similar myself."

"What exactly did you have in mind? We cannot hope to have them as fully trained warriors, no matter who we may have instructing." Aragorn said, voice pitched low.

"No, not as warriors. I merely mean for them to survive should the need ever arise." A short, ugly sound punctuated her sentence, a scoff from the other human man. She turned to see his face drawn up in scorn, focused on the orange flames in front of them.

"Do you require clarification, steward's son?" Eyes, dark in the night and reflecting fire, locked onto hers, narrowing in contempt.

"It is unnatural."

"What is it exactly that unnerves you so? A hobbit learning to defend himself?" She could not help but be amused. "I did not think you would have such an issue with our smaller members learning the art of swordplay, for you train your own children from a young age." Crimson orbs burned as they lit upon the Gondorian, a voiceless challenge etched in their depths. She knew, just as others around the fire, that his implication was not about the hobbits, but about her sex.

Though she understood the underlying message, she would not make this easy for him. She was no stranger to sexism, having encountered it many times before amongst human men, so she retaliated in kind – petty as it may be. "However, if you do not wish to contribute or are perhaps," eyelashes fluttered in a quick glance down to his waist where his sword was distinctly absent, " _lacking_ certain equipment, there are others here who would prove to be more capable partners."

A strange choking sound came from her left, toward the forest. She looked away from Boromir's gawking and rapidly reddening face to see Merry and Frodo erupt into a coughing fit while Sam stared at her, scandalized. Pippin was caught in between the others, not quite understanding what was happening – again.

Not all understood what exactly her gaze had sought; the motion of her eyes dropping to the man's waist and coupled with the blatant innuendo had the company somewhere in between humor and shock. Gimli's booming laughter erupted into the night while Aragorn merely shook his head with a crooked smile. Nárhína did not need to see the elf to know he disapproved, disgust most likely etched into the frown on his flawless face.

The hobbits, somewhat calmed but still giggling, took the empty places around the fire, which happened to be on either side of her. As soon as they were settled, four absurdly eager faces turned toward her, eyes gleaming with firelight and curiosity.

"Questions, young Masters?" Looking back, she should have known better.

"How old are you?

"Where do you come from?"

"Your name is elvish, isn't it? What does it mean?"

"Do your swords have names?"

"How'd you get that scar?"

"Pippin!" Merry's hushed voice followed closely at the end of Pippin's question. They had each voiced one, two in pippin's case, before they all were silent once more, staring somewhat ashamedly though expectant.

She really should have suspected such an occurrence. The curious nature of hobbits was something that she knew of but rarely ever exposed to.

"Questions about your _future training_."

And silence.

 _Of course._

She sighed, the smugness radiating off Mithrandir rivaled that of the warmth coming from the fire.

She had thought, naively now it seems, that she could make it to then end – whatever that may be – without offering parts of herself she would rather keep hidden. The wizard had been mumbling to her for millennia that she is too closed off and it appeared now, with the hobbits, he seemed to think he would be getting his way.

Childishly, she wanted to say that she was already trying with Glorfindel and that was enough. She very much doubted that would be received well, if at all.

She _loathed_ it. This weight, pressing upon her every breath as she sat there under the night sky. The unfairness of their anticipation and want. There was a rage burning as she waited, when the realization of the present fully registered. She was poised upon the sharp edge of an abyss, balanced perilously between the ideal and the unknown and her head _rang_ with the onslaught of the beast that was being backed into a corner.

She could answer, a personal loss that lead to even more questions, littered with the inevitability that the information could be used against her. Or she could choose to remain silent, fade into the background and permanently reside on the outside, as she was used to. Comfortable with.

But as red met blue, the youngest hobbit's face upturned to hers with such an openness, such honesty she wished to turn away.

And yet, she did not.

For a part of her, slight and barely recognizable, wanted to be so much more than she was made to be.

"My age is believed to be near 6,500 years, the exact number is unknown." Pippin's mouth dropped open in comical awe.

"But you said you're not an elf!" Merry's curly head popped out from behind Pippin, his voice piqued with indignation.

"Indeed Master Merry, I spoke true to you. I am not an elf." The physical presence of the remaining members seemed to thicken, their attention drawn to her.

This is what she did not desire. To be forthcoming would put her at risk for more probing questions she desperately did not want to answer. True, she did not have to entertain them, and she would not – but silence is often an answer in and of itself.

"I am from the North, a cold and frozen world, far different than you are used to." Nárhína answered Sam's question before any newer inquires could be voiced. The stout hobbit looked thoughtful when given her answer and she could tell he was running over maps in his mind, trying to picture her home. "Middle Earth is but a small patch of land in the whole that is Arda, I very much doubt you have come across any that have ventured as far north as needed to reach my homeland. It is mostly barren, flat and unforgiving to most."

"But you live there?" There was no accusation in his tone, merely interest.

The woman nodded, "I do. I am well equipped, more so than many others, to handle the specific terrain and weather." Frodo, who was sitting on the other side of Sam, perked up when her attention settled onto him. "You have a keen ear Master Frodo," as she addressed his question, eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps you asked your uncle?" He had the grace to blush but looked most unrepentant, something to which his three friends chuckled. "Bilbo asked me something similar when we first met, years ago."

Frodo's dark brows pulled together, a pout upon his mouth. "But he said he didn't know what it meant." She smiled slightly.

"That is true, he does not. We met only briefly, not near enough time for deeper conversation. I am quite surprised he remembered me at all, actually." At this, Frodo truly laughed.

"It was your hair; he said it was like a halo of flames storming about your shoulders."

She smirked, a twisted tilt of pink lips, "how interestingly accurate. Though I am not surprised." A quick glance at Aragorn showed the Ranger smiling, no doubt thinking of his own interaction with the keen hobbit. "Nárhína means 'born of fire'."

"And your swords?" This was Merry's question. "Frodo told us his was Sting."

"And a very good name it is. Swords, especially those made with a purpose, tend to personify their given names. Mine," a gloved hand waved to the twin hilts peeking over her shoulders, "are called Ohta and Nuru –"

"War and Death." Her head shot up, red orbs flashing.

His voice was monotone, low, and tight, as if it pained him to speak. Which was plausible, in this certain situation. "You carry the Harbingers."

"Har – what?" Legolas paid no mind to Sam's question, his focus centered on her. His usually ice blue eyes were dark, the low light of the campfire could not brighten them, shadowed as they were.

"They were made for the Dark Lord's heir. How is it you possess such weapons?" Gentle pressure appeared on her right side as Pippin leaned into her, unconsciously wilting under the tense atmosphere that had been created.

She did not expect Legolas – or anyone for that matter – to know the truth about her swords. She knew he would understand the words, the language they are named in; but their origin, the _why_ – that she was not prepared for.

"I believe we are done for the night." Lighthearted grumbles came from the four youngest members but no arguments.

"You hold instruments of darkness! This is madness! You cannot –"

"We are _done_ , elfling." Sparks burst up into the air as the flames flared, sparkling orange in the night, brightening the campsite for only a moment before settling back down in a crackling mess.

Silence reigned after the odd display, no doubt do to the awkwardness that now plagued everyone. Pippin was still a solid presence pressed against her side but she needed to move, to leave. She had no more patience for pretentious princelings and she was at her wits end.

"Off to bed hobbits, you will have a long day tomorrow." Surprisingly they made no noise as they rose up and made their way to their packs, staying close as they set up their bedrolls. Gimli was looking back and forth between herself and the elf, and Boromir seemed strangely distant, dazing off into blackness beyond her. She spared not a glance to the two other peoples; she cared not for the look that would surely be on Gandalf's face. Nárhína straightened her tunic and cloak, giving extra attention to the swords on her back – staring Legolas down as she did so.

"I will take first watch. Aragorn, I will wake you in two hours." Leaving before anyone could protest otherwise, she spun and stalked into the forest.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so so much for the favorites and follows! And to my guest reviewer Amethyst, oh. em. gee. I had no idea who David Boals was but YES. He is most definitely Glorfindel. Goodness. And to 123xoxo3211, don't worry, she won't be!

But I'm curious now to see who you all have in mind as Glorfindel and Nárhína.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

* * *

The fire had nearly gone out by the time she made her way back to camp, evidenced by the little lumps of hobbit that seemed to have gravitated closer to the fire pit and meshed together to create one giant ball of shivering Halfling.

It was a colder night, though not unusual for this time of year. Her footsteps were completely silent as she traversed through the maze of bodies to the pile of wood near the campfire. Gently, the woman lifted pieces of bark and dried branches into the pit of embers before sending her senses out.

Deep slow breaths, steady heartbeats, and the soft murmur of sleepy mumbles were all that came back to her. Even the elf in his waking dream would not rise so soon.

With a last cursory glance around the slumbering company, Nárhína stretched her hand out toward the piles of ash and new wood and with a small twitch of her wrist, bright orange fire erupted with a hiss. Fingers twisted, flames weaving with the motion as she poured enough power into the writhing heat to last the rest of the night.

She checked again to make sure none had seen the small display but all was well. She hoped that by the time Aragorn was done with his shift, the young Masters would be warmer. _And speaking of_ , she trailed her eyes over the covered bodies, listening intently to the tone of breaths that puffed white into the air. She heard him toward the outer edge of the circle opposite her and she pulled her cloak tight around her as she stepped to him.

He was nearly completely covered, his shaggy black hair the only thing left outside of his cloak. She moved down to his feet and knelt down, grabbing onto his boot. The slight pressure would be enough to wake him and she was out of range for any sort of startled retaliation. Thankfully, he came awake calmly and quickly, swinging up onto his heels in front of her, silent.

His fingers moved quickly in the low light given off by the fire but she saw easily and understood.

 _Report._

 _All clear,_ her gloved hands signed back. His eyes circled around the sleeping fellowship before lighting on the steadily burning fire. They narrowed before turning to her.

 _Natural or yours?_

 _Gimli's_ , her fingers motioned.

His features twisted into a look she knew well. He accompanied it with a gesture that told her precisely what he thought about her attempt at joking.

White flashed in a toothy grin. _And such attitude, unbecoming for one of your age._

Dark brows shot high, the incredulous look on his face doing absolutely nothing to stifle her humor. _My age,_ he signed, mock outrage evident.

 _Fear not,_ she smiled, _for though you are old to others, you are considered a mere babe to some._

Nárhína left him, silently grumbling, and made her way out of the tiny encampment and into the wooded area where she spent her watch.

Thick trunks surrounded her, branches extending and reaching, layering like fingers clasping in the night, the small orange glow from the fire barely visible through their knitted boughs. Without wasting any more time, the woman stopped at the base of a towering evergreen and jumped with arms outstretched, effortlessly pulling herself onto the thick limb. She continued weaving through, up and over as she climbed higher in the tree before stopping nearly halfway. Nárhína left her swords as they were, crossing her back as she sat down, the trunk behind her. There was a smaller thinner branch beside her that she leaned on, thankfully not having to worry about falling or tipping over in her state of rest.

And _finally,_ she thought, sighing in exhaustion.

It wasn't her body that was fatigued, she could go many days and nights without actual sleep and still function properly; it was her mind that could not cope this time.

The elf's tactless questions had dredged up unwanted thoughts that had plagued her through her entire watch duty. Thoughts that slunk and crawled back to the light from the damp and dark recesses she had locked them in, and no matter how she tried to put them back and forget – they would not. Aided by doubt and her own self-hate, they slipped and dissolved only to manifest again when she least expected.

And she was tired of it.

 _So tired._

And for a moment; a fleeting, incandescent _,_ moment of perceived weakness as she lay her head back, gazing upon the infinite, she wished with startling clarity that she could be anywhere else but there.

* * *

She noticed the sun first.

The slow breeze running over her skin and through her clothes took the bite of the warmth away, leaving only a steady heat throughout her body. Her eyes remained unopened, the light bright enough through her eyelids to tell her the sun was hanging high.

Ghostly fingers, such small things, peppered across her cheeks. There was something here, something about the air, _everywhere_ , that smelled so distinctly _green._

She slowly opened her eyes, merely peeking through lashes at first to let her sight get accustomed to the drastic switch from night to day.

 _What is happening?_

She was still clothed in her tunic and trousers, swords and knives in their proper places, muddy boots on her feet, but she herself was not where she should be. Flat hands turned to claws as fingertips met the earth below, moist soil clumping and tumbling over her searching fingers as they tangled with grass – grass that still tickled along her face.

She sat up with ease, long braid draping along her spine and she opened her eyes fully to scan the surrounding area, wiping the dark loam on the edge of her cloak.

She seemed to be on the tallest hill, overlooking many smaller ones as they sloped and rolled across the world in front of her in emerald waves, bright colors of pink and yellow dotting the surface of expanding hillside. There were no trees, she noticed as she turned, save for the large weeping willow behind her. Its flotsam branches swayed side to side with the wind, mixing in with the taller grasses as they brushed the ground.

The scenery was wholly and utterly unfamiliar to her, for she would have surely remembered such a place had she encountered it before. She flared her senses out but they were muted somehow and felt… muffled. As if she were encased in wool. It was most certainly not right but she felt untroubled. A conundrum to which she had no solution and she was helpless to resist the tranquil scene, temptation and curiosity overshadowing any wariness she should have felt.

The sky was a light blue, breathtaking in its flawless expanse as it stretched above her, save for the unyielding brightness of the sun overhead. And so she finally stood, determined to figure out her apparent misplacement, though there was no urgency in her movements as she made her way to the towering tree.

It was beautiful, this unsettling sort of natural haven she was in. _Perhaps Olorin would know of this place_ , she thought, black gloves stark against the vibrancy of the willow leaves as she parted its heavy curtain.

"Nárhína."

Startled – more than she should have been – the woman curled her arms back into her as swiftly as she could manage, as if bitten, and watched wide-eyed as the elf disappeared behind the sheet of leaves.

It was only for a moment but it was more than enough.

 _Glorfindel._

He was sitting at the base of the tree, one leg bent with his arm draped over top, head tilted back and blue eyes _smirking_.

 _When one smirks, it implies a knowledge and a level of self-satisfaction – often times at another's expense,_ her mind supplied.

 _Insufferable._

She knew Glorfindel was not an unkind being at heart; fierce, even ruthless at times, but merciful and kind to a fault. It was always one of the traits they differed in and on more than one occasion, it had the both of them spouting off in moral or ethical debates on matters pertaining.

So while she knew that smug look was not in any way _demeaning,_ it was still present on his features and she was still lost as to why.

 _Come girl, observe. Orient yourself and think. Stop wasting time._

A voice in a faceless silhouette whispered through her thoughts. Unwelcome but warranted.

She had been sleeping – as it were, and for the first time since leaving Imladris. She was never one to actually fall into the deep cycle that humans and other beings did, instead she chose the light resting period that elves –

 _Impossible!_

Her hands shot out, roughly pulling aside the willow branches as she narrowed her eyes on her counterpart.

"A waking dream?" Her tone conveyed her thoughts on the matter and he noticed, the lines around his eyes softening.

"It is. I have been waiting for you each night with hope that I could meet you here." Pale, slender fingers ran over top his head, a movement expressing an insecurity he is not known for and she frowned.

"And where is _here_?" Slowly, Nárhína moved under the canopy provided by the tree, the sheet of wispy branches closing behind her. Small, slim flecks of golden light filtered through and danced with shadow in between the parting leaves, giving an entirely new meaning to sun kissed as she watched them touch upon the elf lord's seated figure.

 _Sun kissed? Do not lose yourself Nárhína._

He shifted once again, stealing her away from frivolous things and she noticed he was happy – content, more so – but there was a sheen to his eyes and an edge of white to his tilted mouth that suggested a fond but otherwise difficult matter.

"There was no name, it was an uninhabited region beyond the hidden valley of Gondolin," her breath caught deep in her throat at the name of his home. "I dare not dream of the towering marble towers or walls, for some things are best left cherished in their final rest; but this, this I revere often and openly." A palm, pressed down beside him, gently beckoning, "And I wish to share it with you."

 _Share it with you._

 _This man_ , her breath drew in sharply. How he disarmed her when she least anticipated and she was hit suddenly and harshly with the fact that he was real. _He_ was real, these feelings that circled around and through and teased and _unmade_ her were real.

Long days and even longer nights, discussions, heated subjects and small knives of quick words and sharpened tongues, skimming the surface of what and who matters, neither caring nor concerned to the point of questioning or delving deeper into the pool that was _beyond._ They knew nothing about the other. Nothing worth knowing, at the time, nothing that made them desire more for they barely tolerated the other's presence.

Then this bond that so conveniently made itself known at _the_ most inopportune time clearly did not care that they had not been so comfortable with each other, had been acquaintances at best and rivals at worst. Did not care that peace teetered on the edge of a shattered blade, nary a concern for her history nor what could possibly happen once it was brought fully into the light.

"Nárhína," he murmured.

"This should not be possible." She struggled, voice thick, slow, weighed down with impossible implications on more than one affair without meaning to. Thankfully, he chose to address the most prominent question instead of laying claim to hidden things.

"Normally it would not be. Galadriel and her daughter are the only elves that I can recall that have use of this gift. Truthfully, I did not think it would work." He seemed almost embarrassed now, a shy look that was foreign to her and far more attractive than she cared to admit. "I believe it is only due to who you are, the nature of your parentage and this bond that I am even able to connect with you. Dream walking was never one of my abilities, even after the blessings of the Valar."

 _Dream walking._

 _It is much easier for Mother – with Nenya, you understand – but for me it is different, and more difficult. I am unable to communicate thusly with anyone except Elrond, and even then it helps if he is thinking about me._

So sweet she was, it almost overrode the bitterness that came with hearing her dear friend's soft voice even in memory. Her eyes stayed frozen on Glorfindel's, desperately burying the searing pain that came with her specter's delicate laughter, the lightness of her presence that still lingered.

"Essentially, I am an intruder?" A gentle smile graced his lips.

"A visitor." _Of course he would say that._

"How frequently will this occur?" She asked as she walked toward him, deft fingers running across her throat to unclasp her cloak. She folded it roughly, settling it onto her lap as she sat down in the spot he had suggested earlier, though farther than she was sure he preferred.

"As often as possible."

She barely managed to keep her eyes from rolling upward, though a quiet chuckle from her right told her she had not hidden her expression well enough.

Silence reigned, though not uncomfortable and she found herself thinking deeply about the elf beside her.

She was perplexed and each moment spent with him only added to the puzzle that was forming. Student, teacher, soldier. Graceful, beautiful, ruthless. Such strength and wisdom lay upon him, his hands and his brow. His prowess in combat was almost unmatched, an unrelenting fierceness and skill. He was Death to those that lay claim to the dark. _Balrog Slayer,_ they still whisper. He merely bows his head in gratitude, the tightness around his eyes hidden when he looks down. Such sorrow, she knows. And yet he is light and happiness when he smiles. Joy bounds in his wake, gently touching those around him and they are helpless to his unconscious charm.

The heart of a warrior with a pacifistic soul. In all her lifetimes, she had never met someone such as him; even she recognized his conflicting traits when they first met.

Perhaps that is why she had harbored such thinly veiled animosity.

Because she did not understand him.

Because she did not _know_ him. She still does not.

 _But I wish to._

And so with little more than trepidation, she made a hasty decision.

"I dislike winter." She nearly choked as the words flew from her mouth. _Weather, Narhina? Truly? This is how you start to bridge the gap?_ She dared not look to him, she could feel the heat rising from her neck and she could count on hand how many times she had ever blushed and she _knew_ he would be laughing. If he was not already.

"Oh?" She scowled at the humor that laced his short question.

 _You cannot back out now._

"I understand its draw," she sighed, "the mastery behind its design is unparalleled." The woman chanced a glance at her counterpart. He had shifted slightly, his shoulders facing her more openly as his eyes roamed her face. "But it is devious and merciless. The cold does not affect me, the weather itself is inconsequential… but I do not enjoy the meaning behind such a season." She was frowning now. "There is no beauty in death, no pleasure in the barrenness of life. Stripping souls to bare bones and fleshy roots only to bury them in a frozen wasteland of stunning inevitability with such a risk of hope to see the rising sun is cruel and unforgiving."

The miniscule lines around his eyes deepened. Her response was morose, she was aware. But it was how she truly felt and she could not lie. Omit things, of course, but something inside her would not let her do even that, not to him.

"I favor the color orange." Her eyes widened. _Orange?_ Of all the colors. The temptation to ask him why was strong but she refrained. Barely. If he would not question her, she would not question him.

A soft smile formed on her lips to match his. "I am terrified of butterflies." He laughed then and her smile widened, almost to a painful degree as she marveled at how carefree he looked and she realized that _she_ caused that.

"I tend to spend more time taking care of my hair than I should," he said and she finally let herself laugh at the sheepish look on his face.

And so on it went, no questions, only answers. Some trivial, others layered with too many emotions to just pass over and yet, that's exactly what they did.

Nárhína sat, slumped against the greying uneven bark, riveted for what seemed like hours. He was _remarkable_. Captivated, helpless to do anything but bask in his presence and soak up his warmth, his unending acceptance like water to dying earth. In this time, she observed.

Glorfindel talked with his hands. Long, slim fingers waved about as they punctuated each of his tales or draped over tented knees as he relaxed. Pale skin turned stark white at his knuckles when she spoke about her childhood. They burrowed into his trousers, clenching tightly when she told him about her life after the war. Lightly callused fingertips held captive a lock of her hair as she talked about her mother. They were warm on the back of her neck as she relayed to him the small, inconsequential details of her being and didn't move even as he started to speak.

Long lashes fell, eyes closed when he said he loves the smell of lavender and sage. A slim wrinkle formed in the middle of dark blonde brows as he spoke of his time beyond the Veil, what hazy memories he does have. Full lips twisted sideways when he recounts details of him and a childhood friend and all the trouble they had caused – not unlike the twins, he mentions. Broad shoulders tense as he recounted his part in the war, voice cracking as a litany of names escape through the spaces of his teeth. He steadies himself when her fingers find his own on her neck, breathes deeply as they interlace, offering what words cannot. He reads, more than she thought he would and he chuckles at this, soothed even further as he spends long moments whispering poetry, battle tactics, and flowy things in other languages that sound beautiful because they come from him.

She felt her own eyes falling shut as his voice lulled her into a state of drowsy peace she hadn't known since a child. His voice, heated silk – if such thing existed, seemed to drape over her and in her comfort, she let loose a purr of contentment.

"Nárhína!" Shocked suddenly, wide crimson met narrowed blue.

Her companion had said her name with such quiet power and forcefulness; she was confused on what had changed so quickly. Her body made to pull away, to gain distance but the hand still interlocked with her own tightened on the back of her neck as he brought his free hand to cup her chin.

"Glorfin–"

"Your lips are blue."

Her thoughts stuttered not expecting such a response.

"What?" But his focus was elsewhere. The elf's sharp gaze travelled over her person quickly and efficiently before freezing near her lap. Unhanding her chin he grabbed her braid, holding the end near their faces and she could almost physically feel the blood leaving her face.

Her bright red hair was coated in a thin layer of frost that dissipated almost halfway up her plait.

"Something is wrong." The voice sounded distant and she could vaguely feel Glorfindel's hands burning on her shoulders, shaking her.

"Wake up, Nárhína! You must wake up!" She tried to brush away his hands, to assure him she was fine, but she could not find the words; and so his strained yells and scorching grip lingered as the world tilted and faded to black.

* * *

A/N: Soooo sorry! I got lost on the road of life. Writer's block is not fun but this hit me out of nowhere and thankfully jump started things. There are probably grammatical errors - my apologies. Thank you to everyone who followed and favorite! I appreciate you all.

Trikova - I'm so happy you enjoy this! Hopefully you continue to do so :)

Kuon - Glad you love it! And I appreciate what you said about Glorfindel, he's a little tricky sometimes but I'm happy he's as close to being in character as possible.

Tibblets - Ooohh, interesting. What makes you think that? And of course, I'll tell you if you're right or wrong - only if you want to know though.

Daughterofthechief - Eee! I do too! We get sweet a bit of sweet and fluffy Glorfindel here (interested to know how you feel about this one) but don't worry! Sexy, intimidating Glorfindel will be back soon. And thank you so much for the compliment! You are too sweet.

Lunartosolar - Thank you! I adore Nárhína (proud parent moment) and I can't wait for you to see what I have in store for her and Glorfindel.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

* * *

 _"You must wake up!"_

 _Glorfindel!_

She jolted back into awareness, an echo fading and falling around her as she lie waiting, caught in the vertigo of the in-between.

She recalled his last rushed words, conveyed with such conviction – _concern_ – she immediately set herself on edge. To be, essentially _dragged_ , out of a waking dream was unheard of. One always retained their sense of self while away. She should have woken at the very moment her instincts sensed something was amiss. Yet it took Glorfindel to realize not all was well.

If he had not been watching, looking so closely, would he too have not noticed?

 _"Your lips are blue."_

 _Stark white against bold copper._

Frost on her braid.

Eyelids finally snapped open, scanning across pine needles and crowded branches, thankfully still in the same seated position as when she first drifted away.

Though not everything remained just as she left it.

A thin layer of crystallized ice coated all within her sight, transcending the chilled autumn environment into an early winter's playground. Surrounded by white, untouched and pristine, Nárhína stared at the sudden plunge into the frozen ethereal landscape.

 _Unnatural_.

Even as the stray thought left as swift as it came, she knew it to be true. This foray into much colder weather was to be expected – winter did follow autumn – but this quickly and so unexpectedly? _No. Something else was at work here_.

Sharp crackles pierced the otherwise silent wood as she finally moved, disrupting the protesting sheet of frost that blanketed her body. Twisting, white broken granules puffed gently into the air before floating down, trailing after her muffled trek to the forest floor.

She dropped noiselessly to the ground before sprinting sharply to the left, racing and weaving through tree trunks on her way to Aragorn and camp, all the while watching and listening for something, _anything_ , to make sense of this drastic change.

There were few beings that could invoke such power, none of which should be able to affect them currently. Saruman had both reach and might with his newfound allegiance but they were still too far for anything of major consequence to occur by his hand.

Confused and not usually without answers, she ran faster, disregarding the slight effort it took to remain silent in favor of reaching the rest of the fellowship as soon as possible.

Though what awaited her was something she had not prepared for.

The entire encampment and surrounding area was white – not surprising, given how she had found herself.

It was the many hunched figures draped in black that left her blood scorching through her veins.

The inhuman pace she set never faltered, the ugly crack of breaking limbs at their limit followed as she burst from the tree line, metal ringing in the stagnant space as she drew her swords up over her shoulders. Nárhína spared a quick, single glance to identify Aragorn, sprawled unforgivingly facedown near the outer edge before finally engaging.

Slicing, blades scissoring, an unholy scream cut off halfway as the body careened toward her, its hooded head falling behind.

Skeletal arms and ivory claws reached out as she side-stepped away. Monotone muttering morphed, growing into an aching hum. Shrouded faces turned her way, golden orbs shining too bright, unblinkingly.

 _"Cold be hand and heart and bone_

 _And cold be sleep under stone–"_

No mouths, the tortured chant sparked through them, into the air, into the others as they lie petrified, unmoving – colder as the dark words resonated and sank into their flesh.

 _"–never more to wake on stony bed–_

One screeched, madness and pain as its left hand fell uselessly to the ground near a hobbit, cut off as it neared the prone figure.

– _never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead."_

Terrible in its draw, they continued to chant. Channeling power through the dead they drew from, wraith-like forms towered over the spelled company, trembling as they moved.

Not of the living, though not dead either, Barrow-wights dwelt in the doorway of worlds, beings of darkness – _dirt dwellers and body snatchers_ – though the lowest tier.

Nárhína feinted right, sword cutting through tatty fabric and slipping between the open lines of its ribcage, she switched her grip and thrust upward. Dull cracks, one after the other in quick succession burst forth as she ripped her blade through the chest cavity and out near the top of its vertebrae.

"Gandalf!" She yelled as she leapt over the dwarf, shoving a wight away, causing it to barrel into another.

While she could effectively dispatch them all on her own – _though they seem to be multiplying_ – it was becoming tedious. They had no body. No flesh, no muscle that she could see, watch, and prepare accordingly as it tensed, giving away their direction. No eyes, only luminous holes, bright, cold, and completely blank. She could not devote the whole of her focus to disposing of the wretched things while also protecting nine others. They were already under a thrall and while not deadly immediately, the longer the wights stayed in proximity to prey, the colder it would get. And if one didn't succumb to freezing temperatures, they would be stolen away to be slaughtered, used as sacrifice.

 _"In the black wind the stars shall die–_

"Gandalf!" _Light! We need light!_

– _and still be gold here let them lie–"_

With little thought to anything else, Narhina turned, her braid whipping across her body with the force of her twist as she swung a single blade down the rocks that outlined the fire pit – whose flames had long since been extinguished.

A short surge of sparks appeared with the grating sound, the strength of her hit causing barely enough friction with the frost.

But _barely_ _enough_ was plenty.

With a roar that sucked the air from her lungs, a great blazing column of fire shot into the sky, molded from her will alone.

Like water hitting heated rock, the Barrow-wights hissed in the molten glow of firelight but they did not move, did not falter in their resolve.

She cursed inwardly, _not enough after all_.

To become brighter, her fire would need to burn hotter. Even now the ice crystals were melting from the surrounding company – to raise the temperature, just for a brighter flame, would be putting them at risk.

She needed Gandalf but none of them would wake until the wights and their magic were gone.

 _Or until something stronger took its place._

She cringed, knowing there was no other option.

 _Forgive me._

She turned inward, searching, calling, and even with her reluctance, even after centuries of unuse – it came. Slinking through her center, the heart of her, it edged up ever so slowly before nestling like a hot coal in her throat.

 _"Eccoita!" Awake!_

The Power _burned_. Seared her vocal chords as the syllables sizzled upon her tongue before exploding outward, impacting with an unforgiving gong that reverberated through the bleak black and shook the very air.

The wizard came to with the rage of one cornered in battle with nothing left. Rising with a quickness that belied his mortal shell, she swiftly met the ground as he stood tall.

A fireball roared overhead, consuming a wight that had crept behind her in a window of perceived opportunity in an endeavor to steal a hobbit.

However, she had no doubt that attack was meant for her.

"Remember yourself!" She had prepared for this outcome, though not as drastically as it happened. To do what she did, channeling Power to control, to _order_ , was inherently dark. Taken from its raw form and warped, infected, it was created in its darkest aspect as a tether, a way to circumvent free will.

Using something she would prefer to leave alone – for it is both as terrible and wonderous as a sip of water at the peak of thirst – she had fundamentally _forced_ Gandalf out of the hypnotizing chant of the wights, the dark Power clashing with his light even as he obeyed.

Inadvertently throwing a veteran of war back into long forgotten memories.

"Barrow-wights!" She yelled from across the circle.

Still prone on the ground next to the still blazing tower of fire, she noticed that while he still didn't seem completely _Gandalf_ , he appeared to understand the situation and instead of attacking her again right away, he turned his attention to the gathering of cloaked skeletal phantoms.

Blue eyes flashed, magic humming, pressure building and thickening the atmosphere as the wizard raised his staff above his head.

"Be gone, specters!" His shout was drowned out by inhuman screams, not unlike those of the Nazgûl, as he drove the end of his wooden stave against the frost tipped earth and the clearing was bathed in a white radiance that lasted just long enough for a shadow to disappear.

When she could no longer sense the presence of dead-things, she uncovered her eyes and began to form both a thank you and an apology.

But her body jerked before the she could think on it further, moving on instinct – just as an arrow pierced the soil where she had lain.

Cursing under her breath, Nárhína twirled around, balanced on the balls of her feet as she plucked the arrow from the ground. She took what little time she had to adjust the stolen weapon in her grip before launching herself over the fire, through the still towering flames.

The orange and yellow glow nearly died out as the fire dropped to a more manageable level upon her landing, immediately reducing visibility.

It wouldn't hinder him for long but a moment was all she needed.

She lunged in close, nearly under his guard and the slight widening of his eyes was all she saw before she acted.

Looping the arrow through the highest point between the bowstring and the upper limb of his recurve bow, she rotated, bending over in a vaguely dance-like motion while gripping the shaft of the arrow with both hands and _pulled_.

She didn't watch the bow take flight, nor did she pause at his sharp surprised inhale, instead following through on her rotation to plant her elbow in the soft flesh of his stomach.

His grunt as he hit the ground was cut short as she threw her body on top of his. Limbs matched limbs in a macabre embrace, thighs trapping and ankles locking, she used their combined weight against him and shoved his hands under his body before winding her hand through his hair, using his braids for more leverage and forcing his head into an odd angle to the right, bracing her forearm across his face.

Hips bucked in a futile attempt to dislodge her. In retaliation, she tightened her grip in his hair and put more weight onto his face, forcing his neck as far sideways as she dared to.

If she just so happened to rub his face in the dirt, so be it.

"Unhand me, _filth!_ " He snarled, still wiggling in an effort for freedom. Soft sounds, the mumblings of the rest of the camp stirring to life reached her ears. She had no doubt that Aragorn was now wide-awake but he was probably hesitant in approaching, most likely unsure with how to proceed.

The dwarf certainly had no such qualms.

His laughter boomed from the other side of the circle, vaguely reminiscent of a rockslide. She could hear his broken comments through heaving breaths, something highly inappropriate mixed in with what sounded like 'mussed his pretty hair'.

"Calm yourself, Prince–"

" _Do not speak to me!_ " Muffled as it was, the fury reflected in his words was audible.

She, however, would not stand for it.

After all, he had tried to kill her. Pathetic as it was.

In a small fit of temper, fingers clenched, pulling the handful of his hair even tighter, earning herself a pained murmur in response as she lowered her head, lips hovering above the pointed tip of his ear.

"And to think I had such high hope for you," she whispered, the metaphorical dagger resting in her palm. "Alas, you clearly take after your father," poised, steadying slightly before finally – "some would think it is a blessing that your mother cannot see what a disappointment her only child has become," plunging the knife between his ribs.

* * *

A/N: hi. So... not too happy with this chapter but I've tried to reword, reroute, redo, but this is the best version. There are also probably grammatical errors, though I tried to catch them. Legolas is probably OOC from what you're used to, there's a method to my madness, I promise. I know my updates are super sporadic, life is just weird right now.

We also get to learn more about Nárhína in the next chapter. (Finally).

Thank you to my favoriters and followers! I can't appreciate you enough. And of course, my reviewers, you're the motivation.

Okay, answer time.

Lemontea-addict: Wow. First off, you're incredible. And I want to say thank you because I looove all your questions and concerns and thoughts. Seriously. And I'll try and do my best at answering but some things I can't reveal because that'll happen later. You're right about Saruman, usually the decent to evil is paved with a much more deeper meaning than just "we have cookies". Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'll get into it JUST because he's not a major player in faikar. Now, Glorína (ship name, it's easier), I didn't start this story when I could have, which is somewhere in the first age. You won't know everything about them - some will be interpretation but I'll describe most of their relationship. You WILL get their first meeting, but not for a while. And I know it's confusing but this is the easiest way for me without doing a centuries-long time hop. It's supposed to be vague so I'm kind of glad it came out of nowhere for you. And you're right! About something that happened between Nárhína and Arwen (also mostly right about the twins being more forgiving) but this will also be brought up later. And it was supposed to be vague too! Lol that one chapter did get a bit hot, didn't it? Just a tiny bit. She'll gain her confidence with him eventually but she's very out of her league here with romance. Not that Glorfindel is so experienced either but he's not afraid... there's also something holding her back. And no! You didn't offend me. I WANT readers to ask, to be apart of the story, do you booboo. But I can't promise I'll be less vague lol but you'll be getting more info soon! Hopefully that doesn't put you off. And sorry for super long reply!

Yasminasfeir1: thank you thank you! Truly!

Ruin in the Moonlight: punctuation is veeery important to me lol and I'm so so happy that you count this as one of the good tenth walker stories (because I know exactly what you mean) and the fact that you've binge read all my chapters so far (not that there's a lot) means so much! And you can ALWAYS ask questions! And yes, their relationship IS confusing because it literally hit them out of nowhere (there will be more on that) and Legolas is OOC (standoffish like bad) because she's - I can't tell you. Haha but I promise it'll be answered soon!


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